


Joint Effort

by thorinsbigdicko



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorinsbigdicko/pseuds/thorinsbigdicko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His thoughts are interrupted as he hears the truck take off. It rumbles down the street, loudly. Then his back door opens and closes. He hears the stomping and knows who it is. There’s only one person who it could be. His personal torment.</p><p>“Miss Kimball, I would really like to get back to running my store.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joint Effort

**Author's Note:**

> this started off as "why are there so little modern aus based off the Chorus characters" and now it's going to be "what if kimball and doyle ran a pet shops and hated each other and felix was the annoying customer and locus had a snake and also kimbalina and the lieutenants" and here we are.

“Hey. Are you the owner of this shop?”

The voice startles Doyle and he almost falls off the unbalanced ladder. His arm goes out and he manages to hold onto the nearest shelf for dear life. With deep breaths, he tries to calm his racing heart as the stranger calls out to him again. She’s got her arms crossed, and she’s _glaring_ at him for some reason, either ignorant or oblivious to the fact that he almost fell.

He looks down at her, and she looks back. “How may I help—” he tries before being cut off.

“Are you the manager, or owner, or whatever—I mean. Are you in charge here or what.” She’s still glaring for some reason he’s not privy to.

“I’m the owner, yes.” He ventures cautiously, not sure if she’s going to ask him something or attack him. Both seem likely, given the way she’s looking at him. If looks could kill, he would be dead. He’s not sure exactly what he did to earn her ire.

He almost _died_ , and here she is, acting like she’s got some basis to be angry for his momentarily delayed responses.  

“Did you happen to get a delivery from—?”

With impeccable timing, there’s a knock at his back door. The deliveries are the only ones that come in through there. Doyle looks back at the angry woman.

_Is she psychic?_

There’s another, louder, knock.

She looks at him, slightly exasperated. “You should get that.”

“Ah, yes. Excuse me.” He climbs down the ladder slowly, aware of the woman’s eyes following his every move. He shakes his head as he walks towards the back door, glad he’s getting away from her.

The delivery girl is there, like always, on time and with his monthly shipment. She’s unloading the last couple of boxes on the otherwise deserted alley. He reaches into one of the pockets of his work apron, looking for a pen to sign off the shipments with.

“If you could just sign—oh, you.” The delivery girl starts, holding out the pad. However, she’s not looking at Doyle, she’s looking behind him, to the angry woman from the shop that is now outside with them. He never heard the stranger follow him, or even asked her to. He lets out a sigh.

_Is she even real?_

At the very least, she seems acquainted with the delivery girl. Doyle is very much confused. Was there some sort of delivery/pet shop meeting he wasn’t invited to? His shop isn’t the busiest, but he makes enough to stay afloat, and there’s a couple of regular customers that he can always count on. Compared to the shop down the street, though, his must seem like a drag. They’re fancy and modern and carry all sorts of large, hairy creatures. He’s content with his small reptiles and dry pet products and feed.

“Didn’t I just deliver something for you?” The delivery girl asks the strange, angry woman, who isn’t as angry as before.

If no one says their names within the next five seconds, Doyle’s going to scream.

“Yeah, but I got the wrong box, and I knew there was another shop down the street so I came over to check if they had my shit—I mean my stuff.”

“Oh.” The delivery girl says. “Huh. So I’m guessing these aren’t the right boxes for you, sir. I’m sorry.”

After being ignored for the first part of the conversation, being directly addressed is a little off putting for him. He has to take a second before he responds.

“It’s…alright…?” He tries, mostly for lack of anything else to say. He looks at the delivery girl, who’s looking back at the angry woman instead of him. She’s slightly smiling and he’s still very confused.

“I can take the truck back to your store…uh, what was your name again?” The delivery girl asks the angry woman. Doyle looks back and forth between them, but no one looks back at him. The delivery girl starts moving the boxes back onto her large van, waiting for the angry woman to respond.

“Vanessa.”

“Nice name. I’m Carolina.”

“Like, the state?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what my parents were thinking.”

“Patriotic, much?”

The women—Vanessa and Carolina—as he’s learned they are called, completely by accident, talk as if he weren’t there. He doesn’t want to intrude in their exchange with his presence, but he doesn’t want to interrupt them either. He stands there, for lack of anything else to do, wanting nothing more than to leave. He feels if he just takes off, though, he might be considered rude.

During a lull in their surprisingly fast paced conversation, he takes the opportunity to blurt out, “I’m Donald and I would really like to get back to my store.”

“Good for you.” Vanessa tells him, angry yet again.

“You’re the one who barged into _my_ store!” He cries, getting angry as well.

She throws up her arms, turning to him fully. “Because I got _your_ delivery!”

“Well that’s hardly my fault, Miss Vanessa.” He crosses his arms, taking a defensive stance.

“Call me ‘Kimball’. Only the cute delivery girl can call me Vanessa.” She waves an arm behind her, where Carolina is just finishing up loading the boxes. Kimball stops, realizing what she just said.

“What?” The delivery girl asks, more confused than angry, thankfully.

“Fuck.” Kimball’s shoulders slump, as she turns back around to talk to Carolina.

This has gotten too personal for Doyle’s taste and he turns back towards the door of his shop. “Okay. I’m going back inside now.” He leaves the two women outside to deal with their rampant homosexuality.

There are so many thing he needs to do, and here this woman is, strutting into his store, taking up his time.

Once inside the safety of his store, he looks around, taking a moment to recall what he was even doing before Kimball had interrupted.

Oh, yeah.

Shelf. Ladder.

Doyle eyes it, and decides it’s not worth it to take another trip to the top of the old ladder. He goes behind the counter and adds it to the ever-growing list of things he needs replaced, trying to figure out what else he’s in a position to do.

The lizards need to be fed, the mice need to have their cages cleaned; he needs to put in an order for a new snake…

His thoughts are interrupted as he hears the truck take off. It rumbles down the street, loudly. Then his back door opens and closes. He hears the stomping and knows who it is. There’s only one person who it could be. His personal torment.

“Miss Kimball, I would really like to get back to running my store.” He sighs, face turned towards the heavens, hoping that whoever’s above them can rid him of this small, angry woman.

Actually, now that he’s not on a ladder and she’s not trying to flirt with the delivery girl, he can see that she’s taller than him by a few inches. She’s definitely stronger than him, if the muscular arms say anything, and he thinks twice about asking her to leave again.

“Yeah, yeah, I would too, but I wasn’t going to walk all the way around the alley when your back door was right there.” She stops in front of him, laying her arms on the counter. “Also thought I should spy on the competition.”

He sighs and buries his face in his hands.

“I suppose you sell reptiles, too?” He asks, aware she might take it as a sign that he wants her to stay and chat, when the opposite is true.

“Fuck no. We sell puppies and kittens and pets people _actually_ want.”

“That’s preposterous! Who wouldn’t want a nice quiet lizard? Dogs make such a mess.”

The very idea of having such a large four legged creature, slobbering on him, makes him feel a little bit faint. Already he’s itching to get back to his tiny lizards and quiet iguanas, who never make a mess and who generally just chill.

“I’d take a dog’s mess over these soulless creatures any day.” She shrugs, completely unaware of how she’s just insulted him. “Anyways, I just needed to say that you’ll get your deliveries in like an hour or so. Probably. Unless Carolina gets distracted or something. What I’m trying to say is that you’ll _probably_ get your deliveries sometime today. No promises, though.”

“Thank you, Miss Kimball.” He says through gritted teeth.

Kimball in a better mood than when she entered; she doesn’t even notice how close he is to _kindly telling_ her to get out.

“Wait, you are serious about the ‘miss’ thing?” She asks, giving him a strange look, “I’m younger than you. I think. I mean, how old are you? Fifty-something?”

“I’m thirty-two!” He’s genuinely insulted.

“Oh.” She says, looking him over. “Really?”

“Miss Kimball, if you are done insulting me and my shop, I would really like to get back to work.” He sighs, really, really wanting her to leave.

“Yeah, I hope I never see you again, either.” She turns and walks towards the exit, waving a hand. “Bye, Douglas!” She calls, and he just _knows_ she’s smirking, even though he couldn’t see her.

“I’m not—it’s—was—Donald—oh, dear!”

**Author's Note:**

> probably multichapter at some point. working title.


End file.
